Exiled from the Magical Kingdom
by justadram
Summary: -or all a man has is his fake reputation- Flynn Rider is conspicuously absent from Disney World and there's a guy in Downtown Disney who seems to know why if his blonde, hooded companion would just let him explain. Eugene/Rapunzel
1. The Setup

Title: _Exiled from the Magical Kingdom_

Author: just_a_dram

Fandom: Tangled

Pairing: Rapunzel/Eugene

Rating: T

Summary: Flynn Rider is conspicuously absent from Disney World and there's a guy in Downtown Disney who seems to know why if his blonde, hooded companion would just let him explain.

Disclaimer: I stole them. I'm just not as good at theft as Flynn.

Author's Note: Inspired by my Little Elizabeth.

* * *

><p>Exiled from the Magical Kingdom<p>

(Or a Fake Reputation Is All a Man Has)

1. The Setup

The head of the animatronic t-rex descends from the ceiling with a roar. It's tan with huge plastic teeth and she loves it. It's why they end up here at least once a month, and he pretends to hate it every time. As the head comes what is supposed to be dangerously close to their table, she's set off with a squeal of delight and then she raises her hands curled like claws and lets loose a fearsome roar: her best dinosaur imitation, and he's seen it three times tonight already.

"Blondie," he says, tugging on the hood of her oversized black Jack Skellington hoodie, "you're about to wiggle right out of your disguise in your boundless enthusiasm. Try to rein it in a bit." There is still a large spill of plaited blonde hair tumbling out of the neck of the zipped up hoodie, but that hoodie and his Star Tours baseball cap are the only thing preventing them from being booted from the T-Rex Café. And he really wants a burger to go with his overpriced beer.

"I forgot. I think I'm tipsy," she says, chewing on the straw stuck in her Discovery Blast.

He doesn't bother to tell her that her second Discovery Blast in the big plastic bone cup, just like the first, is completely non-alcoholic. The $4.99 it's going to cost him per sugary drink is more than worth it. Even if she stubbornly refuses to let them dine and dash after figuring out what that entails. Because, she's awfully cute when she thinks she's had too much to drink.

And more open to suggestion.

He chuckles to himself and pops a half eaten mozzarella stick in his mouth. He attempts to offer her one, pushing the platter her way, but she scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. She's too focused on getting her hands on the big bowl she's ordered of French onion soup, which she'll probably slurp, to eat anything else. He shrugs, because that just means there's more for him, and he washes down the fried, greasy mouthful with a swallow of cold beer.

She's occupied making faces at the t-rex, trying to tempt him back down again, when he overhears the newly seated table behind them complaining quite loudly about their day in the Magical Kingdom. It's more than he can resist when he hears his name.

Rocking back precariously, he grabs hold of the chair closest to theirs, occupied by a man who might have a couple of years on him, but whose real problem is that he could use a better haircut. The Mickey t-shirt isn't doing him any favors either.

"That's not how it happened."

Interrupting people in a pub could be a really bad idea, but everyone always seemed to be perennially chipper here—the happiest place on Earth—so his uninvited disruption was greeted with a confused smile instead of anger.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I know the people involved."

"You work in the park?"

"I used to," he says with a smile.

This statement is followed by a poke in his ribs, which he brushes off with one hand and a raised brow. She's scowling at him from underneath her hoodie, as if to say—_who's tipsy now?_ He's not supposed to tell anyone, but it's really hard not to speak up when these good people are so obviously disappointed by his unacceptable absence.

"So, what happened?"

He strokes his chin, turns to contemplate his almost drained beer, and turns back to the table of people, who are—understandably—on the edge of their chairs, in complete rapture at the prospect of his revealing this deep secret. Or maybe they're just blown away by how stupendously handsome he is.

"I tell you what. You buy me a beer and I'll tell you."

The one guy looks dubious and he can tell from the exchange of looks around the table that he's about to lose them. There is, however, one girl at the table who looks like she'd be willing to buy him five beers to hear his story, but Blondie's here, so he can't use the smolder. She'd ruin it by laughing.

His chair rocks back flat and he fumbles for his wallet. "You've had a disappointing day. His removal is a big loss to the park. Let me make it up to you," he says as he splays out six passes he had tucked in his wallet. She brings them home constantly and it's not like he can use them.

And just like that he's got their attention again.

"Hey, thanks, buddy."

One of them is already standing up to get him that beer.

"Widmer Hefeweizen," he says, turning the bottle around to display the label. "Thanks." If he plays this right, they'll get a free meal out of it too. "They're three-day passes," he adds, as the shocked man flips them over and nods to himself.

"You really know why Flynn's not there anymore?" the eager girl asks. "No one would tell us."

"No, you're never going to get the straight dope in the park," he says with a wink. "I'm not technically supposed to tell anyone," he says, lowering his voice to enhance the drama. He winces, almost ruining the effect, when she kicks him in the shin under the table.

"I think I can guess what happened," the guy with the tickets in hand smirked. "She's just the type that would have caused trouble with him," he says, jerking his thumb towards Miss Eager, "spoiling it for everybody else."

He spares a smile for her. It's the least he can do for a fan.

"You think you can guess, huh?" He thumbs the rim of his cap. "You think if I told you the rumors and the truth of what happened, you could tell the difference?" He does enjoy a chance to spin a story. He likes a captive, captivated audience, and their waitress hasn't even come to take anything but their drink orders. If he really wows them with his storytelling skills and they leave feeling they've gotten the inside scoop, that free dinner will be in the bag. No running required.

That's just the kind of gamble he doesn't mind taking.


	2. The Pinch

2. The Pinch

He takes a slug of his newly acquired beer. Everything tastes better when it's free, but it's also cold and that combined with the anticipation of stretching his skills at deception results in a pleasant sense of satisfaction spreading over him before he's even begun telling his tale.

He's straddling the chair backwards with one arm draped over its back, when out of the corner of his eye he sees Blondie fold up in her chair, her chin propped on her arms, settling in for his tale even though she's clearly uncertain whether he should be telling it. He can't help but smile, because she likes his stories. Her enthusiasm for them can even get him to break out his backstory from time to time. Of course, there's a bonus: one sad orphan story usually results in the bestowal of more than one sympathetic kiss.

_Hey_, he'll take them any way he can get them, which is probably why his listeners suspect females got Flynn Rider in trouble, but he's got something else up his sleeve. Temptation of a different sort. "He stole something."

Beer Guy doesn't miss a beat: "Disney must not pay very well."

He hopes the girl is with Beer Guy. For her own sake.

"There's a lot of cash floating around the Magical Kingdom," he says, rubbing his thumb and fingers together. He ignores Blondie's snort and continues. "Distracted parents, open backpacks, unattended strollers. Really easy pickings as long as you stay away from Adventureland."

"Don't listen to him: don't stay away from Adventureland. I _love_ Adventureland," Blondie interrupts. "Be sure to try the Dole Whip. It's delicious!"

Blondie likes to eat a large Dole Whip and mumble-sing "Rock-a-Hula Baby" around mouthfuls of ice cream despite eye-watering brain freeze. He prefers a brew at the World Showcase.

"Those guys have got that area pretty much covered," he says, gesturing as if he has a hook for a hand, "and are a _wee bit_ territorial." He doesn't mind the good folks over in the Caribbean, but some of them are rather touchy, especially when rum is involved, which it usually is.

"Disney hires pickpockets?" the Mickey Guy says with a chuckle.

"Well, what does the Mouse expect? Pirates aren't easily domesticated. I can assure you."

"And they smell like the color brown," his conflicted companion puts in helpfully.

"I dunno," the girl says, "Jack Sparrow's cute."

He grins and adjusts his cap, waiting for the response he knows is coming.

"Oh, no! He's dreadful. Stay away from him."

He looks over at his girl, who is scrunching her nose in disgust and curling in on herself.

Captain Jack likes blondes. Captain Jack likes spirited blondes. Captain Jack likes Rapunzel. Eugene knows this, because the captain gave a very salty response to Rapunzel's inquiry into what _his_ dream was. Eugene explained it to her later, and she's avoided him like the plague ever since.

"I'll give it to Disney: great dental plan." He grins wide enough to show off his pearly whites. "Captain's got a fortune in his mouth."

"Hold on, what happened with Flynn really?" the girl asks, getting the conversation back on track.

She looks as if she's hoping she's heard wrong or she's going to be really disappointed. He understands, she was hoping for something a little more romantic than petty theft. He can work with that.

"Old habits," he says with a shrug. "He wouldn't have gotten caught either—he's a real pro—if it hadn't been for Rapunzel telling the Mouse."

"She wouldn't have turned him in," Blondie states, seemingly slightly affronted by the mere suggestion of betrayal.

He has to admit, it doesn't sound much like Rapunzel, but that just makes this more of a challenge. And he likes a challenge. "Oh, but she did. And he was doing it for her."

The girl at the table makes a compassionate sound that doesn't surprise him, because he's no neophyte. He knows just what to say to women; he knows the things they want to hear and how to elicit the reaction from them that he wants. Nevertheless, he's gotten used to Blondie, and crap like this doesn't work on her. That makes this little jaunt seem like shooting fish in a barrel. And there's some appeal in that, in the familiar.

So, he launches into his tale in earnest.

…

Flynn was dumping wallets in a trash bin over by the Fairytale Garden, waiting for their next meet and greet, when Rapunzel turned up and began watching with great interest as he counted his loot from his unofficial day's work.

"What's that?"

"Money. Benjamins. Greenbacks," he said, flipping through the thick stack of bills. "Quite a lot of it. You've found a remarkably talented man for yourself."

"You found me."

"You knocked me out. In more ways than one," he murmured, putting his elbow into her side. "And thanks to my impressive skills, it'll be no time before I can buy us that castle." He nodded towards the blue roofed castle in the foreground.

Her initial reaction was to rock on her heels and bite her lip, no doubt pleased with his thoughtfulness, her head filling with notions of decorating their castle and trying out which bed fit them best like Goldilocks herself, but then her face fell. "You can't buy that: that's Cinderella's Castle."

"Damn." He hadn't bothered to ask, because it was the only castle in the neighborhood, so all he really cared about was buying it up. But this was bad news. Prince Charming was tight-fisted: he'd totally overcharge him. He would have had better luck with Prince Eric, who he could probably trick out of his family castle with very little effort. _Not the sharpest knife in the drawer_.

He stared at the castle for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck and then shrugged. "Everyone has their price."

He tossed the last of the empty wallets into the bin with a flick of the wrist before tucking his ill-gotten gains away in the satchel attached to his belt. With every movement he could feel Rapunzel's eyes upon him.

"Where did you get that money, Eugene?"

He shushed her, putting his finger to his lips conspiratorially as he arched a brow at her. She wasn't supposed to use his name in the park. "That's between you and me, babe." Both his name and the source of the cash.

She peered into the bin and undoubtedly saw a great pile of discarded wallets. "You're not _stealing_ from people, are you?"

He frowned, trying to look completely put out by her baseless accusation. She stared right back at him, looking positively let down, as if she'd decided he was fully reformed. _A horrible decision really_. And then he'd spoilt it by stealing.

"You're stealing _and_ not being honest with me."

_That's called lying_. But she probably couldn't bring herself to call him a liar, which is exactly what he was—a practiced liar.

He could have kept up with the charade, but when she blinked and he saw tears starting to pool in the corners of her eyes, the soft part of him Rapunzel had awakened felt the weight of guilt that getting caught stealing could not elicit. "Hey," he said, looping an arm around her shoulder. "Okay, so I stole a little bit, but it's to buy this a-mazing castle and that's supposed to cheer you up."

She sniffed. "I don't need cheering up. I'm perfectly happy here."

_Okay_, so maybe buying the castle was supposed to make him feel like _he_ had something to offer _her_. Something other than just his renowned skill in the bedroom, which was—without question—a considerable contribution. Not that he'd ever brag about that sort of thing, mind you.

"You have to give the money back."

His mouth worked like a fish for a moment. Not his best look. "That's not going to be easy."

"Why?" she asked, still sniffing and wiping at her nose.

"Well, it takes some time to get that many wallets. I've been at it for awhile, babe." She continued to stare at him expectantly. "I wouldn't know where to find the people I took them from and some of them may have left. So, how about we just consider them a donation?"

Her brows drew together. "A donation?"

"Yeah, people like us. A lot. They want us to be happy. _This_ will make us happy." She shook her head. "It won't make us happy?" She shook her head again. "Not even a little bit?" Another shake.

"I don't need you to buy me a castle, Eugene. Couldn't you have just drawn me a picture? Or baked me a cupcake? I would have liked that a lot better."

"Damn it," he cursed, scrubbing his face. He knew that. He really did. She was happy with little things. He couldn't draw or bake for anything, but there were other things he could do that made her smile. A napkin folded into a swan sent her into orbit.

"Being with you makes me happy. Not castles. Not castles you bought with stolen goods," she said, her voice dropping.

"What do you want me to do?" he demanded a little high and thin, because he had to make this right, but doing the right thing occasionally still made him nervous. Years of doing the wrong thing in order to survive had created quite the aversion to the alternative.

"Turn yourself in."

"Blondie."

"Eu-gene," she responded, her face set, her hands placed squarely on her hips.

"Do you know how insane you sound right now?" he sputtered, as a family walked by and smiled cheerily at them. He pulled her closer to the side of the Fairy Garden, trying to gain some privacy.

"Turn. Yourself. In."

"I'll go to jail." Maybe that had never occurred to her. "Let's just say for the moment I go to jail. Do you know what jail's like?" Cold and damp and decidedly devoid of Rapunzel.

"No, I've never stolen anything."

He smirked at her. _Perfect Princess_.

"We could run away together," he said, taking her hand in his and brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "We'd have a thirty-minute head start before anyone missed us." _Probably closer to fifteen_. But she was quicker than she looked and he was really good at running away.

She reached up with her other hand and rested it on his shoulder, eyes framed by thick lashes as she peered up at him. "I'll visit you."

He sighed. _Well_, he'd never had a visitor before. _A princess come to see a thief._ The other inmates would be green with envy.

And he could always escape.

…

The girl sighs, and he knows he's got her eating right out of his hand. He cut his teeth telling stories to orphans, but he honed his skills spinning pretty little lies for dewy eyed girls. He's still got it.

"I told you Rapunzel wouldn't turn him in," Blondie adds, seemingly vindicated by his story, which is ridiculous considering she knows it's completely fabricated.

"Same difference: she backed him into a corner," he responds, but she is unconcerned with this detail, sipping again on her Discovery Blast with a self satisfied smile.

"Flynn Rider stole some wallets to buy a chick a castle?" the Mickey Guy questions.

"He would never do that," Beer Guy agrees.

"Yes, he would. You don't know him like I…" Blondie begins in indignation, but he cuts her off before she can continue by grabbing her knee and giving it a squeeze.

"I think you need another drink," he says, raising his arm for the waitress just as she hits the bottom of the cup with a loud slurp. He catches the waitress' eye and she gives him a nod, so he turns back to the other table to make sure they don't lose interest. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Do you want to hear the other two stories? I don't want to waste anyone's time."

"Well this one was bogus," Beer Guy insists.

"Probably so, but one of them is bound to be correct." That's what he's promised them, after all. "I'm sure you'll pick the right one."

_Yeah_, the next story will have something for everyone. A hero defending a blonde, a dose of bravery, a splash of blood, and plenty of beer.


	3. The Knock Out

3. The Knock Out

When the day was over and he'd washed the sweat and kiddie germs off, there's nothing Flynn liked better than moseying over to the World Showcase and warming a chair in Germany's pavilion. Sommerfest has Becks on tap, and he was known to have a souvenir stein or two. Or three if someone else was buying. Prince Caspian was always good for loaning a guy the money for a brew and didn't hold a grudge about loans never being repaid.

One cool evening he met up there with Caspian, who had brought John Smith along too. As it turned out, Smith was a cheerless drunk. Flynn half expected him to salt his beer with tears, which would have been a waste of a ten dollar beer. After an hour of being regaled with lovesick stories about Pocahontas, who Flynn thought of as the girl who showed a generous amount of leg, Flynn was wishing he'd just gone home with Rapunzel. He could be eating cupcakes and watching reruns of Cops, which sounded a hell of a lot better than trying to convince a morose Smith that he didn't need a second round of Jägermeister shots. Encouraging people _not_ to drink wasn't exactly Flynn's preference, but neither was babysitting a grown man.

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met. She's bold and noble of spirit."

"You need a hobby," Flynn muttered into his stein.

"What's that, sir?" Smith asked, looking up from the bar napkin he'd shredded into dozens of soggy pieces.

Caspian jumped in, clearing his throat. "We should order something to eat."

He was probably right: Smith could use something to soak up the alcohol. Whether it would soak up his sad sack attitude was yet to be determined.

"Pocahontas could teach us how to live off this glorious land: how to plant corn and fish from the streams. Then we wouldn't need coin."

"We'd be pretty hungry by then," Flynn said, slumping on the table and propping his chin up on a bent elbow.

"I don't know why they torture me, keeping me by her side, making me parade alongside her, when we are parted forever by her sacred vows. It would be better to leave with my pride intact."

_Too late for that_, Flynn thought with a groan. He wanted to say that it was no wonder the girl had married John Rolfe, but when he set his sweating stein down and opened his mouth to voice his opinion, Caspian shot him a look. He settled for rolling his eyes; Caspian _was_ paying after all.

Tears weren't the only thing they had to worry about when Governor Ratcliffe strode through the door, preening in his maroon monstrosity of a coat, but Caspian forestalled an incident by placing a hand on Smith, who had immediately begun to bristle. The bratwurst, frankfurters, and sauerkraut they'd ordered also made a timely appearance, which appeared to provide a temporary distraction. Smith seemed to be mollified for the moment and maybe the evening would have concluded peacefully with beer and brats, but Ratcliffe made the mistake of drawing Flynn's attention. When Flynn heard Rapunzel's name in the rotund man's mouth, his head swiveled to focus on him.

"Is it true, Rider?"

"That you're unfortunately proportioned? Why, yes."

The man frowned for the briefest of moments, but then his thin mustache twitched as a smile quirked his enormous mouth. Somehow his smile was even uglier than his scowl. "The gold in Virginia was a most serious disappointment, but there are other golden wonders yet to be exploited. Or so I hear."

Flynn raked a hand through his hair and schooled his face to look disinterested. "You don't say?"

"The kind of wonders that could earn a man a knighthood."

"Oooh, just what I've always wanted," Flynn cooed sarcastically.

Ratcliffe squinted over his hooked nose. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the golden hair on that wisp of a girl always trailing beside you, would you?"

Flynn raised his Becks in the man's direction. "I know it takes her more than an hour to brush it every day and I'm the one to help her with it. 'cause I'm _always_ with her, Ratty. Thanks for asking."

"You're not with her _now_," a lickspittle hanger-on of Ratcliffe's helpfully pointed out, as he scurried over to bring the Governor a stein.

"I wouldn't mind getting my hands on hair like that if the stories are true." His beady eyes practically gleamed with greed, and Flynn's grip on his stein tightened. He was preparing a sarcastic remark, when Ratcliffe sneered. "What do you think someone would pay for hair like that?"

Flynn stood up so quickly that his chair tumbled over backward, clattering loudly on the paved floor.

"Are you threatening Rider's lady, sir?" Smith demanded, and Flynn realized that both of his companions were standing alongside him.

Caspian was fingering his sword, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was to keep the ponderous Ratcliffe or his cronies from attacking him. Flynn had a feeling Ratcliffe would be turn coward if given the chance and rely on others to fight his battles for him.

Ratcliffe chuckled, his chins jiggling. "Why people like you, Smith, I'll never understand. Are you just too simple minded to understand? The girl's a goldmine."

A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his jaw. His heart rate rose and the room narrowed to only contain one ugly man, who had the nerve to threaten Rapunzel. It only took a few steps to close the distance between himself and Ratcliffe. He shouldered his way through a small mass of tourists who were trying to find somewhere to sit down with their brats. His chest heaved, as he leaned down over the table where Ratcliffe sat, spilling over the edges of his chair. It's a thick neck, but he was pretty sure he could snap it.

"Say that again," Flynn gritted out.

Ratcliffe arched one brow. "Gladly. _Goldmine_."

Flynn grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him out of his chair. "See, I have this funny thing about people threatening Rapunzel: I don't like it." Someone yelled behind him, nearly drowning out the unmanly squeak Ratcliffe made as Flynn twisted the fabric of his collar in his fist, and he could hear a scuffle developing behind him, perhaps involving Smith and Caspian. "How much does a great big coffin run, I wonder?" he asked with measured calm

He didn't get his answer, because at that moment a beer stein clocked Flynn on the back of the head. At least, it felt and sounded like a stein as it hit the pavement. Shocked by the unexpected attack, he let loose of Ratcliffe to rub where it smarted. Drawing back his hand, he looked down at it: a smear of blood. The stein had actually split his scalp.

That really pissed him off.

He swung to the left to see who had hit him. Whoever he was, Smith had him in hand. Caspian was in the mix too, simultaneously holding back two questionable men, shouting for security, and trying to prevent the brawl from reaching the closest table of horrified Mouseketeers outfitted in monogrammed ears.

If he wanted to give Ratcliffe another shake, it was too late: he had quickly slipped out of reach and was hiding some of his girth behind a potted plant, where he held his hands up like a terrified child—_pathetic_. Hardly worth the effort. If the man didn't have a gun or your back wasn't turned, he didn't pose much of a threat. Flynn had faced worse.

There was a creep in a doublet advancing on Smith, however, so Flynn picked up Ratcliffe's abandoned beer and emptied it on the guy's head. It was the least he could do. He watched the beer run in rivulets down the man's hair, neck, and back, and couldn't help but smile. It had been ages since he'd been in a bar fight. You weren't even supposed to shove anyone while waiting in line in Disney World.

…

Blondie smiles, biting her lip as she peers out from underneath her hood at him. "He fought for her?"

As soon as he said someone had shown interest in her hair, she began to nervously pick at non-existent pills on her hoodie, but her mood shifted once more when his story turned towards heroics.

"Sure he did," he says, puffing up a bit even though this scenario never actually played out: it was a story, a fiction, just like the previous tall tale. He waggles his brows at her and she giggles in that bubbly way that makes him want to tickle her and make her thrash and beat her fists against him.

She tucks her chin into her shoulder and offers coyly, "It's too bad he didn't have a frying pan."

"They're kind of bulky to lug around," he says with a shrug. "Or you know he would have."

Her mouth opens as something occurs to her and she reaches out to brush his cheek with her fingertips. "Was he badly injured?" She looks as if she's half hoping he was, her eyes twinkling with the possibility that he came home wearing a badge of honor in the form of personal injury.

He's been working to make the story appealing to their neighbors, but this one's just for her: "A couple of stitches." He turns to address the rest of his audience, "And it's surprising how much play a black eye can get a guy."

Her hand withdraws to cover her mouth and he can just hear her whisper, "A black eye!"

His perfectly good Smolder is rejected as ludicrous, but she likes the notion of a shiner. Somehow he's not surprised. This is the girl who took to the thugs at the Snuggly Duckling like…well, like a duck to water. She would probably thrill at being able to press a bag of cold peas to his mangled face, so long as he assured her he wasn't really and truly hurt. "Flynn's a guy that's lived on the streets. So, a hit to the face is nothing, so long as the nose is all right. Can't mess with that, 'cause ladies line up for hours to meet that dashing Rider."

Blondie sniffs, and he can see that just like that she's unimpressed. "They line up to wish Rapunzel and Flynn well and share their dreams and talk about Pascal and Maximus and birthdays and cupcakes and lanterns." She almost runs out of breath in listing these things. She's always geared up after a meet and greet, thrilled to pieces with the things her fans have shared with her and eager to share them with him as well. "Not a nose," she finishes dismissively.

"Listen, the nose is the moneymaker. Well, it was, until the park authorities escorted him out of the park for starting a brawl. I doubt his natural good looks are earning him much cash these days."

"Did Rider even land a punch?" the Beer Guy asks, and suddenly, he doesn't like Beer Guy as much as before.

He scowls at the man and takes a swig from his beer. "I didn't get the particulars." He's been in maybe a handful of street brawls and a dozen bar fights, but most of the time he gets in a couple of punches, drains his mug, and slips out between scuffling legs before something really bad happens. He's very good at escaping in the nick of time, as it turns out. That's not cowardice: that's just smart. But not everyone would fully appreciate that, so he protects his reputation as best he can.

"I didn't hear anything about John Smith getting thrown out of the park," the girl at the other table ventures.

Which is a good point. Neither had he, but for all he knew, Smith's days were numbered as well. "Did you happen to _see_ John Smith when you were in the park?" They shake their heads as if in choreographed unison. "Exactly. Damage control. The Mouse is probably keeping him out of sight and testing if park guests responded to Rolfe before showing Smith the door."

"It's Ratcliffe that should have been sent away," Blondie puts in, and he can't help but agree. Ratcliffe may not have actually ever threatened Rapunzel, but he doesn't like the way he looks at her, as if he's counting gold coins in his head. So, he doesn't happen to think that being stuck in the Animal Kingdom where it's usually as hot as Hades is punishment enough for that greedy son of a bitch.

"No one would ever stand in a long line to see _him_," the girl agrees.

She's the best of this bunch—she knows what's up—so he winks at her. She's not the only sharp female in the room, however, and the feisty one sitting next to him doesn't miss his gesture. His foot gets stomped on as payment. "Hey!" Her foot is little and nothing like a frying pan to the head, but she's a heck of a lot stronger than she looks.

"_Flynn_ is heroic and _he_ only thinks about Rapunzel," she says, jabbing him in the chest as she speaks, as if to remind him of that fact or throw Flynn in his face, as if they're not the same person.

Maybe they're not. Maybe they have very little in common anymore. She's not generally jealous, because he doesn't give her any reason to be, but she doesn't like it when he acts like Flynn, strangely preferring his genuine self. He's still getting used to that. Besides, he's trying to tell a good story, and Eugene, who is fully devoted to Rapunzel, would never get himself kicked out of Disney World for flirting with women. _Flynn it is_.

"Well, not according to what I've heard." He's heard lots of inaccuracies about himself and some of them would result in his being asked to remove himself from the park post haste. He'd only have to spin the narrative , elaborate where necessary to help earn themselves a free dinner, which would be a real help, because he isn't earning any money at the moment—perfect nose or not.

"What have you heard?" the girl asks, looking and sounding completely scandalized already.

"I think you mentioned the rumor of issues with the ladies?"

Her enthusiasm almost reaches Rapunzel-like-levels when she exclaims, "I knew it!"

"You just made her day," Mickey T-shirt Guy says with a chuckle. "If only she could find that guy, she thinks she'd have a shot."

The girl is frowning and mouthing 'shut up' at Mickey Guy and Blondie looks put out too. It's time to turn the tide. Win them all over.

"Yeah, ladies are Rider's Achilles heel, but I'm not talking tourists," he corrects them. "I'm talking princesses."


	4. The Pick Up

4. The Pick Up

The Celebrate a Dream Come True parade had just wrapped up, the crowds were thinning, and Flynn was strolling, hands in pockets down Main Street, when he slowed down to inspect the crowd of three highly overdressed women chattering away in front of Exposition Hall. Ball gowns only meant one thing: princesses.

"Hello, ladies."

Three delicate heads turned in unison—black, blonde, and brunette. _Quite the trio_. All they'd need is a red head to round out the menagerie, but Flynn had already met Ariel, the resident red head, and she was even more of a handful than Rapunzel. It had taken him the better part of one evening to convince Rapunzel that Ariel's notion of using a fork for a hairbrush was probably only workable for those with two—not seventy—feet of hair.

"I think we need to be introduced," he crooned, smiling winningly. He'd quickly learned that the princesses ran the show. Get in good with the princesses and you were golden.

"There's no need: your reputation precedes you," the brunette said with a slight frown.

That was something he wasn't accustomed to seeing: princesses were supposed to smile. All the time. Even when it was hot enough to fry an egg on Main Street. Yeah, this princess seemed feisty, and he didn't mind that one bit.

"_Hi, Flynn Rider_," he intoned half an octave lower with arched brows. Not quite the full Smolder, because he was saving that for later. "_Howyadoin'_?"

"Oh, Flynn Rider! How very nice to meet you," the raven haired one chirped, pressing her hands together in delight.

"It's a pleasure," the blonde said sweetly, as she tilted her head to the side.

The brunette, however, merely sighed, as her eyes drifted away towards some distant point. Disinterest, admittedly, was more of a turn on than avid interest. He'd learned that with Rapunzel. Although, this girl seemed to lack the unbridled enthusiasm Flynn had come to secretly appreciate. It didn't matter—he was no longer in the market, but he still liked the idea of winning over people who were averse to liking him at the start. And he still thought becoming indispensible to the park princesses was one hell of an idea.

Maybe he'd end up pulling the sword out of the stone too. They'd put him at the front of the parade.

"I think I can guess who you gals are." He rubbed his chin and acted as if he was doing some mental heavy lifting, but this was too easy.

"Oh a game! What fun!" the dark haired girl said, sweeping her yellow skirts to the side and pressing a finger under her chin. "As long as your chores are finished," she added thoughtfully.

"Chores?" He chuckled. "Isn't that what you have palace staff for?"

"Women, you mean?" the brunette asked with a small huff. "Leave the cooking and cleaning to the women?"

"I do love to cook," the other girl blithely added, sweeping her skirts back as she swayed.

"Yes, but this Flynn Rider character would like to think we can't do anything _but_ cook. There has to be more to life than that. I didn't come all this way to simply cook and clean for a brute."

"Oh, dear! My little friends aren't brutes. They are rather messy though," she twittered. "There was a _great_ deal of work to be done when I first arrived."

He didn't know quite know what to make of that little exchange, so he plowed ahead, pointing at each princess in turn: "Snow White, Cinderella, and…Belle. Am I right?" His cocksure grin indicated he needed very little confirmation of his talents at discovery, but he still eagerly awaited the oncoming awe.

"Well done," Cinderella said with a regal smile, her hand coming up to lightly touch her collar bone.

_There is it_, Flynn thought, as he crossed his arms over his chest and shifted on his feet, puffed with pride.

"You're very well informed, sir," Cinderella continued. "Have you been here before?" she teased, her head tilting down as she beamed sweetly at him.

"You'll only make him worse," Belle put in, still looking out over his shoulder at something. "He thinks he's handsome."

"He is. He looks very sharp," Cinderella said with a nod. "Doesn't everyone look lovely today?" she asked, holding her hands out, as her gaze flitted over the crowd of tourists in cheesy t-shirts, questionable shorts, and flip flops.

Belle refused to answer, but Cinderella continued, as if she hadn't noticed, "What kingdom are you from?"

"Corona. Rapunzel and I are from Corona."

Cinderella's brows knit together. "I'm not familiar with that kingdom. Was it a _very_ long carriage ride?"

"A horse brought us here." A great, big, petulant horse.

"Oh I _am_ glad to hear it," she said, clasping her hands together. "Those carriages have an unfortunate habit of turning into pumpkins at the most inconvenient times."

Flynn paused, looking from Snow White to Belle, who both seemed untouched by Cinderella's odd comment, which confused him even more. He cleared his throat. "I think I misheard you."

"They turn into a pumpkin," Cinderella said, raising her voice and her hands to her mouth, so that they were poised at the corners of her mouth, as if he might be hard of hearing.

"That's what I thought you said," Flynn mumbled. He leaned in towards Belle, who struck him as the brains of the group, to ask conspiratorially, "Has she taken a blow to the head recently? A frying pan, perhaps?"

Belle leaned away from him, looking decidedly annoyed.

Flynn shrugged. Princesses could be weird. He should know.

The conversation was stalling and he felt his powers of persuasion failing him momentarily. He scrambled for something to entice them. "I'm hungry. Anyone care for a snack?"

"Eating between meals?" Snow White said, sounding a little conflicted. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt just this once, but you must wash your hands first."

Blondie always loved a present. Even apples would do in a pinch, although she tended to give them away again to Maximus. "Live a little," he urged her, as he pulled a shiny, red apple from his pocket and held it out as an offering.

Snow gave a high pitched squeal, jumping back and nearly tripping over a child that was scurrying behind her in her attempt to escape the apple.

"Whoa, sweetheart," he said, reaching out his free hand, but she continued to rush backwards until she was pressed against the wall, palms splayed out against the brick and mortar. He hadn't seen a girl this jumpy since Rapunzel knocked over the toaster oven with a broomstick when it shot out his English muffins in the morning. He went back to just drinking coffee and it ended the drama. "What the heck is wrong with her?"

"You are remarkably insensitive. Typical man," Belle said, snatching the apple from his hand and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. "No apples around Snow, all right, Mister Tough Guy?"

He held his hands up in surrender. "How was I to know?" _They should hand out pamphlets when they let you join the cast_. Otherwise you could easily stumble into uncomfortable conversations with Cinderella about pumpkins or trigger Snow's paralyzing fruit phobia.

"Read the book and find out," Belle sniffed.

Cinderella was petting Snow and casting little disappointed looks at him, which wasn't exactly the effect he'd been hoping to create here, so he wrote them off as a lost cause—for the moment. He'd attempt to win those two over some other time, when they'd forgotten about the Apple Incident.

He sidestepped a tourist and came to stand by Belle's side, ignoring the fact that she looked rather irritated by his maneuver. It was worth trying to make one last effort here, as she was infinitely more interesting than her companions.

"You like books, do you?"

She cast a sidelong, suspicious glance his way. "Yes, I do."

"I know a good story. I can recommend a great book to you in fact."

She shook her head. "I've read them all. Honestly, you're new here, and I think I should warn you that you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Oh, hey, you've got this all wrong." Yeah, he had a thing for brunettes and this girl was a pretty one, but all the big brown eyes and smarts in the world weren't going to do it for him anymore. Embarrassingly enough, he was a one girl guy. Being the acknowledged handsome leading man in this land of ladies would have been nice, but deep down he just thought making nice with the princesses would make things a little easier on Blondie—the new girl. She looked so sad when someone didn't understand her or looked at her funny. "I'm just trying to make friends, honey."

"I don't think we can ever be friends, Flynn. I know your type."

"You don't know me well enough to know what type I am." Rapunzel could use some smart female friends, but if Belle couldn't stand him, there wasn't much chance she'd be coming around to play Yahtzee with his girl. "We just need to get to know each other is all. Anything I should know about you? Fear of falling? An animal activist? Rose allergy?"

Belle squinted at him, crossed her arms over her chest, and flounced away.

…

"That's it?" the girl asks.

"Looking for something more sordid?" he says, waggling his brows.

"Disney is a bunch of prudes!" she asserts.

"Tell me about it. You should hear Esmeralda's story. Well, you can actually; she's usually on the corner of…"

He doesn't get to finish, because Blondie whacks him in the arm with a surprising amount of force. "Flynn's a jerk," she says, emphasizing the last word.

"Let's get this girl another Discovery Blast," he suggests, because he's not quite finished with this tale, and if she'll just keep quiet, he can get back to the heart of the matter. "Look, Disney wouldn't have liked Flynn fraternizing with the other princesses, but what they couldn't abide was his getting the Beast all worked up. There's nothing worse than an angry Beast."

…

The next day, when they were lined up for the parade, still stuck in the same spot due to his failure to impress anyone, he was entertaining Rapunzel with some tricks—just the sort of sleight of hand that came in handy for a thief—when he was suddenly lifted right up off his feet by the neck of his vest.

"Hey!" he yelled, a little less manfully than he would have liked, struggling to see who it was that had violated his personal space in this humiliating manner.

The growl should have been a clue, but Flynn wasn't exactly used to being manhandled by a _beast_.

He could just make out Rapunzel scrambling too late to snag his satchel from his side, presumably in the vain hope that he'd packed a frying pan for the day, when he was spun around. Dangling three feet off the ground, he met the Beast face to snout.

"How about putting me down, big guy?" Flynn suggested, waiting to see if the animal would respond to reason or whether the Disney folks would have to bring in a tranq gun.

"I don't like you," the Beast growled.

"So far I don't like you much either."

"Do you always threaten women, little man?" the Beast demanded, giving him a shake that made Flynn's legs dance back and forth like a rag doll.

"Oh, are we getting to the personal part of the interview? Well, let's see. Never made it a practice, although I have been known to make a lady swoon."

"That's not what I meant," the Beast grumbled angrily, exposing more teeth in the process.

"Oh well, now it's your turn: have you always had that tremendous under bite? It's the 21st c., man, I bet they can get you a dentist, orthodontist, breath mints, _something_."

The last word vibrated with the second shake he received, and Rapunzel squealed, dancing around the Beast's feet and demanding he put Flynn down. _Hey, it'd worked once before_. Except, the Beast didn't seem impressed.

Then he spotted Belle, hands on hips, watching from afar with a blank face.

"Hey!" he called out to her over the Beast's shoulder. "Hey! Tell your hairy boyfriend that he has it all wrong."

Belle walked a few steps, stared up at the Beast, who looked as softly as he probably could down at her, and said dispassionately, "He might not have been threatening any of us."

"I wasn't!" Flynn squeaked, as his vest began to work its way up his throat and choke him.

"He may have been flirting with us."

_Even worse!_ The Beast's face contorted, Flynn prepared for the feeling of teeth closing over his head—_his stupendously handsome face to be marred in death!—_and then the Beast laughed. A big, chortling, chest shaking laugh.

"What's so funny about that?" Flynn asked, summoning up as much outrage as he could from his precarious position.

"You're not good enough for any of these women," the Beast said, putting him on the ground and giving him a soft shove on the bottom with his massive paw.

…

"And the parade was ten minutes late that day. Disney folks were none too happy, let me tell you; between soothing the Beast and scurrying to get us out to the parade route before riots broke out. That place works on clockwork, and Flynn got the blame for gumming up the works," he concludes.

"They like the Beast better than they do Flynn," Rapunzel puts in, looking as if at this moment she prefers the furrier one as well.

"That's the one. That's the reason he was kicked out," the guy in the Mickey shirt asserts.

Of course he believes it. The story doesn't make Flynn look brave or heroic or even particularly smooth with the ladies, but that's what makes it a good story, a sellable yarn. Losers love to hear about the good looking guy finishing last.

"I really thought it involved visitors to the park," the girl objects. "We'd have heard if he's been hitting on Disney princesses."

"No way. They'd totally want to keep that under wraps."

"Why are we even listening to this guy again? He looks like a tourist," the Beer Guy says.

He's reminded that he doesn't like Beer Guy much and glares at him.

"I dunno, he _does_ look familiar. Were you Aladdin?" the girl asks.

"I can neither confirm nor deny that." He could be mistaken for worse. Aladdin's a pretty cool guy as far as the princes go. He's a heck of a lot better than Charming with that dorky haircut and his poser uniform. The guy hasn't even seen any real action: he's nothing but a military school graduate.

"Whatever," she says, after titling her head to scrutinize him more closely, "I'm sure it was something about inappropriate behavior with _visitors_."

Beer Guy shakes his head at her. "You spend too much time on the internet, reading rumors."

This is all really gratifying. He's an international star. He's noted and notable. But, he can't even enjoy the confusion he's created at the table next to them or the fact that people are talking about him online, because his girl is glaring at him. She's looking at him like he's as ugly as some of the preposterous posters suggested.

"Sorry, babe," he shrugs. "Some guys prefer brunettes. Can't win 'em all, you know." He tweaks her nose. He can't see the freckles dotting it, since her face is shaded by her hoodie, but he knows they're there.

She strokes her hair, attempting to tuck more of it inside her hoodie, but it's a losing battle.

"That's not the way it happened," she says to him. "That's _not_ the way it happened," she repeats, leaning forward to address the other table. "I'll tell you the way it happened."

He pushes her back in her chair with his index finger.

"Sorry," he says behind his hand confidentially, "she's had one too many Discovery Blasts."

"My niece is sensitive to sugar too," the girl at the table responds with a sympathetic nod.

He rubs the back of his neck and looks askance at Rapunzel, who is once again happily sipping from her brightly colored drink. In her huge hoodie she does look pretty damn young, and that's probably making him look like a total creeper.

She giggles, stirring the straw of her frozen concoction. Her foot, which has somehow come free of her slip on Converse sneakers, is stealing up the calf of his leg, as she grins wickedly into her drink.

Young and dangerous.

Maybe he should check into that sugar sensitivity thing.


	5. The Truth

5. The Truth

Two officers in short sleeve, light blue shirts adorned with mouse ears wend their way through the tables toward them. The jig is up. Someone has spotted and reported them.

He still has time enough to run. No way they'd catch him. The one is heavy and the other is completely gray. They're about as threatening a pair as Chip 'n' Dale in Tomorrowland.

Blondie's a different story. She's on her third Discovery Blast, and is flopping around in her chair, giggling loudly, fully convinced she is drunk. When she gets like this, he ends up having to give her a piggyback ride to their condo, which she's decorated with Corona sunbursts. The deposit is a total loss.

And that's how he really got kicked out of the Magical Kingdom. She redecorated Snow White's Scary Adventures. It was supposed to be a surprise for Snow's birthday, and he went along with the plan, because he imagined making out on the dark ride might be entertaining. When she finished, he thought her paint job was an improvement, but the park authorities called it vandalism. Turns out Snow has a thing for tidiness, which failed to include an unsolicited redecoration of the walls of her eponymous ride. _Uptight goody two-shoes_.

…

There were a lot of serious, angry faces the day the two of them were called into the security office to watch the video of the two of them entering Snow's ride the night the vandalism took place.

"You wouldn't happen to have an explanation for this would you?" a security guard asked as the tape played on the screen before them.

He rubbed his chin. "I think the only explanation is that someone does a mean impression of me and Blondie. I mean, those are two strikingly good looking people. Wouldn't you say?"

"Do you know how serious the damage is?"

They weren't going to trip him up. This was child's play: he'd been questioned by much more fearsome inquisitors than the crowd of stone faces in the Disney World security office.

He stretched out in the chair as if this whole scenario bored him. "No idea. How could I? We haven't been inside that ride in weeks."

"You know we can't have this sort of thing happening in the park. If you did this, as the video suggests, we'd need to ask you to leave. Permanently."

He glanced over at Blondie, who was practically white with fear. It was a wonder she hadn't immediately confessed; the fact that she really liked it in Disney World was probably the only thing that kept her from spilling everything.

"To repair the ride would be so extensive a process that they've decided they're going to scuttle the ride and put something else in its place."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. You were going to close the ride as part of the planned Fantasyland expansion anyway," he pointed out coolly.

One of the men narrowed his eyes at him. "Is that why you defaced the ride, Mr. Fitzherbert?"

He could see that the culprit would have opened her mouth to incriminate herself, but he reached over, silencing her with a hand on her arm, as he smiled slowly. "That's Mr. _Rider_ if you don't mind. Thanks."

"Are you confessing?"

"Eugene," she said plaintively, big doe eyes begging him not to do it.

He couldn't let her take the fall for this. She was happy here. Really happy. "Sure, I'll confess. Yeah, I defaced the ride, because Snow and her little dwarf friends creep the hell out of me. The lot of them are worse than Cinderella and her troop of mice. Mice—ugh," he said, shivering, "I hate 'em. Did I ever mention that before?" _Oh, their horrified faces_. It was priceless. "I thought I'd leave my mark. What's the harm, when you're going to tear it down anyway?"

The only thing that bothered him was the triumphant look on the security manager's face, when he turned to address his girl. "And what do you have to say, Princess?"

He jumped in before she could respond. "This is awk-ward." He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I don't take princesses out on crime sprees. They're not terribly reliable. That," he said gesturing at the screen, "is a girl I met on Pleasure Island. Real peach." He shrugged at Rapunzel, who looked understandably shocked at his fabrication. "Sorry, babe. I have a thing for blondes."

…

So, yeah, these guards are slow and he could totally outrun them, leaving Downtown Disney behind before they ever have a chance to catch up with him. He already mentally outpaced their kind after all, by saving his girl, the real paintbrush wielding perpetrator from being booted from the Magical Kingdom. But he isn't going to make a run for it.

He doesn't miss signing all the autograph books or the sticky fingered kids, who sneeze in your face or stare dumbly up at you in shock, but the adoration hadn't been so bad. He can't say he doesn't miss being a star. That and spending everyday with his girl.

No, he'd have to ditch her in order to escape, and while Flynn Rider wouldn't have thought twice, Eugene can't begin to imagine leaving her behind.

He sighs, looking down and hoping the bill of his hat will somehow magically protect him from discovery, as the guards approach their table.

"Sir," the one officer says, "if you'll come with us please."

"Something wrong, officer?" he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The table he's been entertaining suddenly doesn't know the pair of them, turning quietly to their meals. No one wants to be kicked out of Disney World.

"Eugene Fitzherbert, we're going to have to ask you to leave."

"Flynn Rider. Get it right: a fake reputation is all a man has."

He hears an—_oh, my God_—from the table behind them. It makes him smile. _Yeah, I'm Flynn Rider, jackasses._

He shrugs off one officer's hand as it comes to rest on his shoulder.

"Let's not make a scene."

"Scene, what scene? Me and my lovely girlfriend are having a nice dinner here in Downtown Disney. I didn't realize that was a crime." Even though things aren't exactly going well, she smiles when he calls her his girlfriend. It really doesn't take much to please her. "Did _you_, babe?"

"Downtown Disney Area admission and parking are complimentary," she recites straight out of the pamphlets.

It's been their hope that Downtown Disney is a neutral zone where he might be welcome despite his ban from the park, but he's always known better. Hence the dopey disguises.

"You can finish your meal, miss," the one guard says, as the other grabs him under the arm and hauls him upright.

Blondie sobers up real quick. "Hey! What are you doing? Let go of him!" she demands as she stands up.

"Miss, we're sorry, but this gentleman knows he's not supposed to be on property."

"He's trouble," the other one adds, as if he's doing her a favor by telling her this little factoid about her date.

"Give him back!" she says even more loudly, nearly knocking over his chair in her attempt to wrestle him from the officer.

He gives her a quick look. These guys aren't exactly going to clamp him in irons. So, it's better she doesn't whip out her hair and use it as a lasso in order to save him. Even if he's really touched by the sentiment.

But just as he thinks this, her hood falls back in the shuffle, exposing her glossy blonde hair. Several tables around them that have been watching with great interest go silent. Even in Disney World there aren't a lot of women walking around with hair this blonde. Or with this much of it.

The officer that had him by the arm let's go.

The other one begins to stutter. "Pri-pri-prin-cess?"

She insinuates herself between the officer and himself and his empty beer bottle topples over in the process, dribbling the last of its contents over the tabletop.

"Yes? I'm Princess Rapunzel of Corona. You were saying?"

"We're just…we're just doing our job, Princess."

Her face softens and she pats the one man's silver Walt Disney World Security badge. "Yes, of course you were. And we're just having dinner. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? No crimes are being committed."

The guards look at each other, obviously hoping one of them will have the answer.

"Look," she says, "the thing is, I need you _not_ to get him kicked out of here." The one officer glowers at Eugene, as he kisses the crown of Rapunzel's head, as she continues, "_Just for the evening_, and then you can go back to keeping Eugene out of Disney World, ok?"

They remain silent, but he can tell their confidence is more than shaken.

"Be honest," he says resting his chin on Rapunzel's head, "did Snow send you guys?" He's pushing it, but his Blondie is such a little spitfire that he doesn't think it'll matter. Apparently, she's not letting him get dragged out of here. Not tonight.

The officer glares again, as Eugene smirks, wrapping an arm around her waist.

She smiles so sweetly as she adds, "And it's also my birthday, just so you know."

_Oh, Rapunzel. _He chuckles to himself, hugging her closer.

The officer looks entirely defeated, when he croaks, "Your birthday?"

"And no one's brought her a cake," he points out helpfully. "Someone should probably be on top of that." _Free dessert_.

The one officer actually turns and hurries off presumably to find a waiter and the other one is looking like he wishes someone else had gotten the call tonight.

"Sorry, Princess. You can, uh, you can finish your meal of course."

"_We_ can finish our meal," she corrects.

"Yes, I'm sorry if we interrupted."

"You know what would make it up to her?" Eugene asks, before pecking her on the cheek. "If the Mouse picked up the check."

The officer fingers his walkie-talkie.

Rapunzel stretches out her hand to stop him. "It's not our meal I'm worried about. It's everyone else's: we've spoiled all these nice people's meals with the ruckus."

The officer glances around at the tables of staring customers. "I'll call my superior."

"Yeah, you do that," Eugene says with a wink as the man backs away.

She turns in his arms, her body warm against his as she slides her hands up around his neck.

She's just pulled rank to get him a pass and their free cake is no doubt on its way, but suddenly he doesn't care about being here anymore. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"Home." He leans forward, so he can whisper throatily in her ear, "I want to get you home."

Rapunzel lets go of him so she can grab what's left of her drink and drains it. "Okay," she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "but you're going to have to carry me. I'm totally drunk." She giggles and blushes.

"Awesome," he says with a waggle of his brows. He can think of a half a dozen things Rapunzel will probably happily agree to in her current state of fake intoxication. He lifts her up by the waist and slings her over his shoulder.

Best. Day. Ever.

THE END


End file.
